an ode to theatre

tell stories that matter.

with people whose compassion

and courage bring the lights up,

sustain the laughter and the

focused silence during transitions.

this good, old, tried & true

willing suspension of disbelief.

for those who speak and act

and for all those watching,

listening, leaning into a world

completely foreign and yet

strangely familiar.


a place where all of us,

churched and unchurched

take the sacraments of

thought, word and deed.

and to come back again,

standing in line Sunday

after Sunday

(matinees included)

just to hear those words



Blood. I. Body. This. Do.

Broken. Remembrance. Is.

For. Me. Pass on to you.


to walk outside again,

back into the cold,

after the final blackout

and bows of the actors.

feeling, perhaps, slightly

buzzed, wide eyed, awake.

suddenly remembering

the slight tremor of the

cigarette in the last scene,

and saying to no one in

particular as you walk

home alone: thank you.